A Diamond In the Rough
by alyells
Summary: Mary's time with the Banks has come to and end. She realizes there's more to saying goodbye than she could imagine. Who will she really be missing? Mary/Bert shipping, movie based characters and plot. Rated T to be safe.


**A Diamond In the Rough**

**A/N: I've never read the books (though I'm trying to get a hold of them desperately!), so this is entire based of her musical & movie character. Any lines that you recognize are taken directly from the Disney movie. No copyright infringement intended.**

Mary Poppins stood on the stoop of Number Seventeen, Cherry Tree Lane, carpet bag clutched firmly in her left hand and umbrella in her right. She stared down the street after the Banks family, arms linked and happier than she had ever seen them. Her eyes welled with tears that she did not permit to fall and her heart was heavy; that time had come again, and she dreaded it more than anything in the world. Mary sighed.

The green parrot head of her umbrella blinked its great yellow eyes at her and let out a feeble squawk. She turned her attention to it as it opened its grayish black beak and began to talk. "That's gratitude for you. Didn't even say good-bye!"

Mary sighed again. "No, they didn't." Her eyes wandered back to her charges and their parents, who were unraveling the string of a home made kite.

"Look at them! You know, they think more of their father they do of you!" the parrot said indignantly.

"That's as it should be," she said, a little sternly.

The parrot blinked again. "Well, don't you care?"

She glowered at it. "Practically perfect people never permit sentiment to muddle their way of thinking," she said, though her voice was soft and on the verge of breaking.

She had never become so attached to a particular family; she couldn't permit herself to. What would happen to her, she had often wondered, if she loved every child that she had to say good bye to? Of course, when she left, it was always a bittersweet moment. It was her job to put families back together and sort out the children, but she liked them all. Jane and Michael, however, were a different story. She loved the two very much, and it was breaking her heart to have to leave. She'd probably never see them again… But she had said it herself; it was as it should be.

The parrot woke her from her reverie. "Is that so? Well, I'll tell you one thing, Mary Poppins; you don't fool me a bit!"

Mary Poppins' eyebrows raised in a careful arc. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. I know exactly how you feel about these children, and if you think I'm going to keep my mouth shut any longer, I –"

Mary placed her forefinger and thumb around the bird's beak and clamped it shut. He continued to mutter incoherently, but she glanced back after the children again. "That will be quite enough of that, thank _you_!"

As much as she hated admitting defeat, the parrot was right; she loved the children, she couldn't deny it. It was exceptionally hard to force her self of the steps of the home that she had resided in for all those months. It had been a wonderfully happy time, and as she opened the folded top of her umbrella, clasping the head of the parrot firmly in her hand, a bombardment of memories washed over her; she nearly staggered with the sheer force of them. Days in the park, cleaning up the nursery, running errands, chalk drawings, statues and merry-go-rounds…

The more she thought, the more she realized that yes; she would miss the children terribly. But there was more to this than that, she thought with a pang. There was something else; something she couldn't put her pristine white-gloved finger on. Rather, there was some_one_…Someone who had been there for every outing, every Day Out, every Evening Out, someone who had been there every time she needed him, no matter what; her gallant knight in sooty armor.

The wind picked up and she was off, invisible to all who weren't looking for her. Common people on the street didn't notice her; the shop keepers staring out the windows didn't see her in the sky; only one man could see the unbelievable figure of a woman floating on the breeze by and umbrella. He, it seemed, _was_ looking for her.

*

Bert Alfred was going about his business. Today, he was a chimney sweep - again. He couldn't get enough of the rooftops of London, the billowing smoke, the all-consuming soot and the tall pillars of chimneys. They were his own kind of magic; he could see the city from a unique angle, watch the people go by and do what he pleased. He hoisted his brooms on his shoulder and hopped across the gap between houses; he was on top of the world.

The only thing that could befuddle Bert's care-free mood was the obvious absence of _her_; his one and only, his everything. She didn't know it, but _love _wasn't a big enough word to describe the way he felt about her. He had her memorized; every fiber of his being longed for her laugh, her wit, her sarcasm, her kind heart and her fire. He was nothing, _nothing_, without his Mary.

Gazing up into the sky that was unusually cloudless for London, Bert caught sight of her. It was odd, he thought, how she managed to pop up just when he was thinking about her all the time. It was as if she could read his mind; well, perhaps she could. There wasn't much Mary Poppins couldn't do, frankly.

He saw her look down, and he took off his cap and waved it to her. She pulled on the handle of her umbrella and floated down to him, landing on the rooftop silently. Her mouth was smiling, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. He moved closer to her and peered into their sapphire depths. The stars that normally shone from within were dim, hardly there at all.

"Good afternoon," she greeted him primly, folding her umbrella and setting down her carpet bag.

"Mary Poppins," he addressed her formally, tipping his hat to her. She extended a hand, and he took it in his own. He swept low to plant a kiss on the back of her white glove, but did not release it right away. She didn't fight him. "If you don't mind me sayin', you're not yourself."

"Who am I, then?" she questioned, but her words lacked their usual gusto. He furrowed his brow.

"Well, you're certainly still a Mary, and you're certainly still a Poppins," he said, beginning to pace about her. She stood straight, her head following him as he walked in circles, "but, still, not yourself."

"Indeed," she said blandly. Bert halted in front of her again, fixing her with a quizzical expression. She looked over him, around him and under him, but she refused to look _at _him.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Her face was a carefully constructed mask of indifference and polite confusion, and as she continued to avert her eyes, he grabbed her cheeks with both hands, cradling her face gently. He peered into her eyes again; they always told much more than she did. They welled with tears for the second time that day, and she nearly shook in her shiny, buckled boots.

Clearing her throat, she took a step closer to him. "Everything."

"Care to explain?" asked Bert, not releasing her beautiful face from his hands.

"Haven't I made it quite clear," she asked, a little of her brisk manner returning, as though his mere presence made her feel that much better, "that I never explain anything?"

"That you have," he said with a nod, "but I think there are exceptions to every rule."

She sighed, resigned. "I suppose you're right."

"Come on, darlin'," he said gently, miming her step closer. They were standing merely inches apart, and his breath was beginning to come faster. _Not a time to press your advantage,_ he mentally scolded himself. He dropped his hands from her face, but she grabbed them and held them tightly in her own. "You can tell me anything, you know."

"Yes, I know," another sigh, then, "fine. Jane and Michael don't need me any more. They're practically perfect in e-every way, just like they're supposed to be," she said, and her voice broke slightly. She turned her face away from him, nose in the air, and sniffed.

"You knew this day would come," he said calmly, rationally. This was completely unlike her; Mary had said good bye more times than he could count. "You knew you'd have to leave."

"I didn't know _what _I'd have to leave," she admitted, still not looking at him. "There's more to it this time, Bert. I never realized it before today…" she trailed off, uncertain.

"Do you love them?" he asked.

"And just what would happen to me if I loved everyone I had to say good bye to?" she retorted. "I'd be a total wreck."

They stood there for a while, both hands intertwined, so close they could nearly feel the other's heart beat or intake of breath. She wasn't far off a wreck now, Bert noted. Well, compared to most people, Mary Poppins capsized, she did not wreck. But compared to Mary Poppins, most people were the Titanic, so it was an unfair comparison. A silence settled over them, and Mary finally turned her head back to Bert.

"I…" she started, and at the same time,

"You know…" he began. A nervous laugh from each of them.

"You go first," she said, smiling uneasily.

"No, quite alright," he said graciously, "ladies first."

She raised an eye brow. "Since when?"

"Since I became a blue-blooded gentleman," he said with a playful tug at her hands.

"I knew that would go to your head," she snapped lightheartedly. She fixed him with a mock-glare, and he laughed.

"Stop trying to change the subject, Mar," he said, brown eyes twinkling.

She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. "What did you just call me?"

"Mary?" he asked uncertainly.

"No…You called me 'Mar'," she said, mouth hung open in astonishment.

"What, never had a nickname before?" She shook her head. "Well, there you have it. Mary Poppins, the Nickname-less Nanny. Who knew?" He smiled warmly at her. "And close your mouth, _Mar_, we are not a codfish."

Her mouth snapped closed, but not for long. She laughed musically.

"Now, what is it you were going to tell me?" she asked, grinning slightly.

"Not so fast," he teased. "You're tricky, but I've known you for too long. You first."

She narrowed her eyes. "Fine! Since you're ever so insistent, _I'll_ go first." She took another deep breath and steadied herself internally. "I don't want to leave because I don't want to leave _you._ There, I said it. Pleased?"

"Very," Bert said, looking quite pleased indeed. "You took the words right out of my mouth!"

"That is utter nonsense! _You're_ not going anywhere – I am!" she said in a slightly playful way.

"Well, take that and flip it, and there you have it. Exactly what I was going to say."

"Say it, then," she commanded him jokingly.

"Nope," he said, pressing his lips together, still not releasing her hands.

"I've never been one for childish games, Bert," she said snappishly. "If you love me, just say it!"

"No, ma'am, I will not," he said and grinned cheekily.

She huffed out an impatient breath. "Why, if you aren't the most impertinent, childish, stubborn, willful, frustrating," she started, seething, "handsome, wonderful, loving, kind, humorous, gentle, adorable and noble men I've ever met, my name is not Mary Poppins!"

He looked astounded for a moment, but quickly regained his composure. "Didn't we sort it out earlier that your name, indeed, is Mary Poppins?"

She smiled. "Yes, we did. My memory is quite a lot better than you'd think, you know."

"Believe me," he said happily, "I know."

"So, are you going to say it?"

"Say what?"

"You love me."

"You love me? I know you do! I don't need to say it," he said with a laugh. She glared at him again.

"Fine," she said, setting her jaw and finally pulling her hands out of his. He wiped them in his pants, noticing he was starting to sweat a bit. "Don't say it. I'll be off, then. Good evening, Bert…" she said, and bent to pick up her umbrella.

He stooped down, too, and caught her chin with his forefinger. He pulled her face ever so slightly towards his own, and he could feel her breath hot on his hand.

"You're absolutely beautiful when you're cross, did you know?"

"No," she whispered. "And I'm not cross."

"If you're not cross, than my name's not Bert Alfred," he mocked her slightly. The corners of her red-stained mouth turned up in a small smile.

"Actually, your name is Herbert Alfred, so, I'm really not cross," she laughed. "Say it?" she asked; it was a question this time. He smiled back at her.

"You needn't ask, love," he said, moving so their noses were touching tip to tip. "Mary Poppins, I love every piece of you."

"Even when I'm cross?" she asked.

"Even when you're cross," said Bert, and the remainder of the gap between their awaiting mouths was closed by some unexplainable force; whether it be Fate, Destiny, magic or love, they shared their first kiss that way, crouched on the rooftop under a blanket of darkening sky.

Her arms found their way around his neck, and his around her waist. The kiss started slow, unsure and timid, but the fire burning between them grew. They straightened and he lifted her off her feet. They clung to each other, desperation fueling their desire, and everything felt right with the world. With her in his arms, Bert felt as though he could move mountains. He had longed for that moment for so long.

She felt completely at home with his strong arms about her waist. She wove her fingers through his hair, knocking off his cap and not caring in the least. They barely came up for air, but neither minded holding their breath; they had been doing so for so long, it was more like exhaling.

When they broke apart, he kept his hands around her waist and gazed into her eyes. The stars that had been dim and unrecognizable minutes before were now twinkling away, content in the universe, sparkling like thousands of jewels. "I couldn't let the stars go out again," he mumbled, pressing his lips to her hair.

"They shine just for you," she whispered back, breathing him in.

"Do you really have to leave me again?" he asked desperately. She pulled away and smiled sadly.

"You know I do, Bert," she replied, bending down again to pick up her things. She unfurled the umbrella and clutched her carpet bag close to her side. "But I'll be back…"

"When the wind changes," he finished for her and heaved a heavy sigh.

"I'll miss you terribly," Mary admitted, all her guards down now. "You truly are a diamond in the rough, Bert. I don't know how you're not stolen away from me by someone more consistent."

"Consistency is overrated, Mary. You know that. You bring magic into my life, whether you're here or not. Besides, you're practically perfect in every way." He sighed and repressed the urge to pull her to him again. The more he put it off, the harder it would be. "I'll be waiting," he said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "You know where to find me."

She turned her back to him and raised her umbrella into the air. A gust of wind caught her and lifted her off the roof. She floated gracefully into the air, and he watched until he could no longer see her. As the night began to approach, and the stars come out to shine, he gazed up still, wondering just what stars were shining in her eyes.


End file.
